


No Simple Answers

by Diary



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Addiction, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Awkward Conversations, Bechdel Test Fail, Bisexual Male Character, Bisexual Percy Weasley, Gay Male Character, Gay Oliver Wood, Late Night Conversations, Love, M/M, Male Friendship, POV Male Character, POV Oliver Wood, POV Queer Character, Post-Canon, Post-Deathly Hallows, Post-Hogwarts, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-07
Updated: 2016-03-07
Packaged: 2018-05-25 05:08:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6181471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diary/pseuds/Diary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Repost. Oliver runs into Percy in a bar. Things go from there. Complete.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Simple Answers

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Harry Potter.

“You can't keep my wand!”

“You tried to hex your teammate, in public, in front of the media,” Coach Lincoln retorts. “What would you suggest I do?”

“Not take away the one thing that could keep your Keeper alive in the event of an emergency?”

“Your flat contains a Vanishing Cabinet-”

“To George Weasley's shop. Death by whatever alarms he's got set up, much better than-”

“He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is gone, Wood. Most of his death eaters are gone. If a muggle attacks you, sic your broom after them. I'm keeping your wand until next practise. Perhaps, that will teach you to not whip it out and hex your teammates.”

“This can't be legal.”

“You're reserve,” Coach Lincoln responds. “If I have to, I can easily let you go.”

“And what's his punishment, then?”

“That's between him and I.”

“No, it's not,” Oliver protests. “He just lost us the championship. It wasn't a mistake. He was too busy showing off to keep his head in the game! Maybe I shouldn't have tried to hex him, but that didn't affect the game. What he did-”

“Good night, Wood.”

Oliver starts to retort, sees the dangerous look in the coach's eyes reminding him so much of McGonagall, and sighs. “Well, how in the bloody hell am I supposed to get home, then? I don't have a fireplace or portkey, and without an invisibility spell, I can't fly me broom, now, can I?”

He's used to apparating.

“You don't need a wand to summon the Knight Bus,” Coach Lincoln reminds him. “Even Squibs have the ability to-”

“I don't have money on me.”

Looking as if regret is starting to set in, Coach Lincoln nevertheless digs out some gold and counts it out. “Here, this will be enough for the ride home. I expect you to pay me back when we meet again for practise, Wood.”

“My flat has locking charms on it, and my landlady's muggle. How am I supposed to get in?”

“Take the Knight Bus to the ministry and explain the situation,” Coach Lincoln replies.

“I didn't lose us the game. I didn't lose us the championship,” he declares. “And if I ever do either, you can bet I'll have a much better excuse than making eyes at the audience.”

He walks away.

When the Knight Bus comes, he directs it to the Leaky Cauldron.

He can walk to George's place from there. George is likely to curse him or, worse, enlist him as a test subject, but to hell if Oliver is going to the ministry and explain his coach is being a right dictator and took his wand away. He hadn't even succeed in cursing the git, had he?

First, however, Oliver is going to get drunk.

They lost the _championship_.

0

At the Leaky Cauldron, he sits down and orders rum.

The person next to him turns and blinks owlishly.

“Percy Weasley?”

“Oh, no,” is Percy's response.

He starts frantically throwing money down, but Oliver reaches over and stills his hand. “Relax, mate. George isn't with me. Don't know where he is, and honestly, until I'm nice and pissed, I don't care, either.”

Considerably calmer, Percy begins putting the money up. “Bad day, Wood?”

“Still don't read the sports section, huh, Weasley?”

“No,” Percy answers in a completely unashamed tone. He picks up his glass and downs it. Based on this, Wood has a suspicion it's not water.

“What're'ya drinking?”

“Vodka,” is the curt reply.

“Rum for me,” Oliver says. He takes a long drink. “Finnegan, no relation to the owner of this place, lost us our championship. So, I tried to curse him. My completely mental coach took me wand. Won't give it back 'til next practise. So, I'm locked out of my apartment, my parents are going to use this to try to convince me to take a teaching job in Scotland, and gods, who knows what your baby brother's going to put me through before he'll finally agree to break into my apartment. And just because it bears repeating, we lost the bloody championship!”

Signalling for another drink, Percy says, “I'll unlock your apartment for you.”

Oliver blinks.

“That'd be great.”

Nodding, Percy attacks his drink.

“So, bad day for you, too, or are ya celebrating?”

“I'd prefer not to discuss it.”

“Fair enough,” Oliver says.

They drink silently until Oliver starts to feel the room spinning. “Mate, I think it time for me go.” He realises not all the words were there and sighs.

“Me, as well,” Percy agrees in a strange, quiet tone. “Would you like me to apparate you, or should we take the Knight Bus?”

“Better go Knight Bus,” Oliver answers.

Where Oliver has trouble in words, he makes up in movements. Despite the spinning room, he's able to concentrate and move straight and steady.

Percy, on the other hand, bumps into several different things until Oliver grabs and guides him.

They manage to get to Oliver's flat, and Percy easily undoes the charms.

Oliver finds himself recalling the fear he felt of Percy for a long time. Charlie and Bill were brilliant, their parents were nice, if completely lacking in priorities, and then, there was Percy, and Percy was outright disdainful of Quidditch; he claimed to respect the sport, but if this were true, he wouldn't have gone to the library during matches.

Moreover, he came into every class and had the professors oohing and aahing over him. Even Professor Snape was less sharp with Percy than the others. He knew dark magic. He knew all about Voldemort.

Oliver soon learned Percy was a rule-follower. He even insisted on following the rules no one, not even prefects and professors, followed.

When this became clear Oliver relaxed and more-or-less stopped thinking about him. When Percy got a girlfriend who loved Quidditch, Oliver found him and Percy talking a few times, but unlike with the Weasley twins, he never got to a point where they joked around and talked just to talk.

“Thank you,” Oliver says.

Later, he'll wonder how it had happened and who made the first move, but now, now, he's kissing Percy Weasley.

Percy's hands seem to hover at the opening of the bottom half of his robes.

“Wanna stay,” he asks.

“Yes,” Percy answers.

0

In the morning, Oliver wakes up with a terrible headache and dry throat greeting him.

Making sure the blankets are properly covering Percy, he gets out of bed, drinks a glass of water, uses the toilet, gets dressed, makes his customary breakfast of bacon, sausage, grilled tomatoes, fried eggs, toast, and oatmeal with milk to drink, and tries to keep his stomach from recoiling.

Thankfully, cooking is one thing he can do the muggle way and has never grasped doing the magic way. He makes enough in case Percy wants any, although, he doubts Percy will.

At Hogwarts, Percy had toast with strawberry jam, an oatcake, and banana slices with tea. He had it every day, except for on his birthday, Christmas, and maybe his sibling's birthdays. Even then, it was more of a case of the twins would sneak down to the kitchen and get the elves to not put those things on the table while they prevented him from going over to the other tables and politely asking for some.

He's almost done eating when he sees Percy wake up, blink in confusions, and grope for his glasses.

“To your right,” Oliver says.

He finds himself hoping Percy's disorientation doesn't mean Oliver's going to have to explain what exactly Percy is doing naked in another man's flat.

Finding his glasses, Percy slips them on.

“Toilet's that way,” Oliver points.

Wordlessly, Percy goes.

When Percy comes out, Oliver hands him a glass of water. “You okay?”

“I always get sick after a night of drinking,” Percy answers. He begins getting dressed. “Well, thank you, Wood. Despite the intoxication, last night was pleasant. I think I need to be going soon. Is there anything magical you need done?”

“No,” he answers. “Percy, not to embarrass you, but you do know what we did last night, don't you?”

“I would think that was obvious. We had sex. If it was bad for you, please, don't tell me.”

Actually, it wasn't. It was awkward, but he imagines this was more due to the alcohol than anything else.

“Fancy having dinner?”

The last few people Oliver have been with have been more interested in Quidditch than him. He never thought this would be a problem, but it turns out, when he's shagging someone, he wants them to be interested in both the Quidditch and non-Quidditch parts of him. Percy wasn't bad in bed, and maybe, with his prioritising other things way above Quidditch, he'll be interested in the other parts.

Percy looks at him. “Are you asking me on a date?”

“Yeah,” Oliver answers.

“When do you get your wand back?”

“Next Saturday.”

“I should be over my sickness by then,” Percy says. He digs through his robes and withdraws a card and a pen. “Here's my address. When you get your wand back, come over. We can work out the details.”

“Alright,” Oliver agrees.

Digging a knut out, Percy mutters something. “Back in a minute.” He disappears through the front door.

Sure enough, Percy soon returns- only, he returns by appearing in the middle of the living room with the coin between his fingers.

“A portkey,” Oliver realises.

“Yes,” Percy answers. He turns the coin a bright red colour. “Here. It's set to bring you back here. You can use it until you get your wand. When you do, I need to deactivate it and return it to its normal colour.”

“Thanks, Percy.”

“Will you be okay with not being able to lock your door and windows?”

He nods and pockets the portkey. “I can lock and unlock them the muggle way, and I have a Vanishing Cabinet that goes to George's shop if I need it.”

“Goodbye, Wood.”

“Bye, Percy.”

0

“So, you're wandless,” George says.

“But not without the ability to take precious cargo up into the air and drop it.”

George shrugs, and because he's insane, seems to actually consider letting Oliver do so. “How'd you get into your apartment, then?”

“Met a ministry bloke at a bar,” Oliver answers. “We got pissed, and he agreed to undo them for me.”

He’s aware he needs to take extreme care. George gets odd when Percy is mentioned, and even when if it weren't Percy, Oliver isn't sure telling George he'd shagged one of George's brothers would go over well. If it were Ginny Weasley, Oliver knows he’d be dead, but he's never been interested in women.

“You shag him?”

“When I say pissed, I mean, we were so drunk that I couldn't talk properly, kept forgetting words, and he couldn't walk a straight line. He offered to do apparition, but we ended up taking the Knight Bus.”

“Pity,” George offers with a shrug. “Well, since I'm feeling such sympathy for your plight-”

Oliver scoffs.

“And such admiration for your attempts at hexing, I'll loan you Fred's-”

“No,” Oliver automatically says.

You don't use a dead person's wand, is something he's heard all his life. It's only proper to snap it and let the magic return to the earth or follow the owner to wherever they go.

During the Battle of Hogwarts, his wand was stolen, and he came across a dead death eater with a wand still clutched in her hand. He hadn't hesitated; he’d picked it up and waved it. When it responded to him, he went on to fight.

After the war was over, he'd found her body, forced himself to bow while feeling more guilt for this than he had for taking the wand, and snapped the wand in half before helping bury her and it.

The Weasley family has, for as long as he's known them, passed wands along. He understood the money issues, and he's never said anything. This doesn't stop him from inwardly disapproving.

Although, when it comes to Fred's wand, Oliver doesn't have a problem with George keeping it. He doesn't think he'd have a problem with George using it, either. The Weasley twins seemed to have their minds literally connected, and so, it's only right their wands be broken at the same time, and since George is still alive and able to use magic, it would be insulting to his wand for it to be broken. Wands should only be replaced if they're broken or permanently lost.

Even with all this, Oliver will never use Fred Weasley's wand unless it's a literal matter of life or death.

“Well, I can loan you mine, then.”

“George, I don't want anyone's wand but mine. I just don't feel right going to bed with only the muggle locks on me door.”

“How are you communicating with your parents and getting to your flat,” George inquires.

“I have a portkey, and I can go to the post office.”

“If you have a portkey- Ah, let me guess, you leave it at home most of the time.”

“They're damn unpleasant to use,” Oliver grumbles.

“Why don't you just buy an owl, mate? And have a fireplace installed.”

“Because Davie has wormed his way back into their life,” Oliver answers.

His older brother is a thief, a liar, a cheater, a criminal, a jackass, and several other things. His older brother has made Oliver's life a living hell.

As usual, his brother has gotten them on his side, again.

Three women pregnant, wanted by ministry and non-ministry alike, and they're still blaming Davie's actions on being raised during a war.

Well, Oliver fought during a war. He's killed, came close to being killed, and watched people, some of whom were wee kids, die. And aside from trying to hex someone who deserved it, he hasn't been acting out.

“Alright, then,” George says, “me and Lee Jordan will come over and figure out what to do about the locks. You seeing this ministry bloke again?”

“Suppose there's always the possibility,” Oliver answers.

0

After he finally gets his wand back, he goes to Percy's.

As soon as the door’s opened, Percy asks, “What hex were you attempting?”

“Read the sports section?”

Nodding, Percy stands aside. “I'm sorry the place is a bit messy. It used to be my mother and house-elves who cleaned for me.”

At Hogwarts, the house-elves seemed to adore Percy and some of the Slytherins. Unlike most of them, Percy knew better than to ever kick or smack them, but like them, he'd go down to the kitchens and give precise orders. He wanted his little area arranged a certain way, he wanted them rather than the prefects to fix his clothes, and he would lecture them about not listening to the twins whenever they were given orders not to put certain foods on the table.

Oliver remembers Percy once talked about buying two house-elves when he had secured a proper job in the ministry. One would be for his mother and one would be for him.

According to George, Percy is rising higher every day and is determined to ignore everyone but their mother. He didn't come to Fred's funeral, he shut the door in Ginny's face, and he pointedly avoids Arthur Weasley and Hermione Granger while at work.

He realises this may be a bad idea. Aside from George possibly placing dark magic on him, he's on friendly terms with all the Weasleys. This could lead to him having to take sides.

Still, he sits down. “Percy, what you call messy, others consider too clean,” he points out. “Here's the portkey back.”

“Thank you, Oliver,” Percy says. He quickly mutters a spell, and then, turns it back to its normal colour. “Would you care for some refreshments?”

“Tea's good. Milk if you have it.”

“I'm not rightly sure what hex I was attempting,” he continues.

“How did Trevor Finnegan lose the game?”

“Basically, he was too busy showing off to keep focused on doing what he needed to. But never mind that. How 'bout that date?”

Serving the tea and handing Oliver a spoon and bottle of milk, Percy sits down. “I realise the night you met me somewhat contradicts this, but I don't drink. Last week, that was- there were circumstances involved.”

“Alright with me,” Oliver says. “Plenty of places that have non-alcoholic drinks.”

Percy looks relieved, and Oliver wonders if he should tell him he has no burning desire to prod. Percy not drinking seems to fit in pretty well with everything Oliver knows about him. He wonders if last week was the birthday of a lost one or something else having to do with a dead person. Oliver still has nightmares about Colin Creevey and the female death eater despite the fact he can't remember ever actually talking to the former and didn't even know the latter's name until about a week after she was buried.

“You pick, then,” Percy says. “When I'm not going to the ministry, I rarely leave.”

0

They go to a Chinese restaurant.

“My job description and my duties are two different things,” Percy tells him.

Taking a sip of his beer, Oliver asks, “Is that good or bad?”

“It depends,” Percy answers. “I'm supposed to be an editor with an emphasis on fact-checking. In reality, my department is so understaffed I often end up researching what laws are needed and trying to push those laws through. I'm thrilled to be able to do such a thing, but I'm also aware that if I ever get a truly unpopular law pushed through, that will be the absolute end of my career.”

“I can understand that,” Oliver notes. “All these years, I'm still reserve. When I'm let go, no other team's going to take me, and where do I go once Quidditch isn't an option? My parents keep trying to get to consider being a teacher. Personally, I can't imagine meself as an educator of any kind.”

Percy looks thoughtful. “I'm biased,” he says. “What you did with the twins- putting fear in them, getting them to follow instructions, helping them develop their potential- I'll always have a great deal of awe and respect for you for that.”

Laughing, Oliver grins. “Few times I came close to killing them.”

“I lived with them,” Percy retorts. “If I weren't so obsessed with rules, I would have Avada'd them, buried their bodies, and tried to convince my parents to have a party.”

“Doesn't sound like you, at all,” Oliver comments.

Sighing, Percy looks down.

“I'm sorry,” Oliver quickly says.

“Don't be,” Percy says. “Sometimes, it just sneaks up on me. I suppose I'm still obsessed with the rules,” he wryly declares.

“Well,” Oliver says, “then, what are the rules when it comes to dating?”

“Good question,” Percy answers. “I haven't dated in years. Penny was my longest relationship, and well, everything was much simpler at Hogwarts.”

“How about we have another date next week?”

“I'd like that. Would you like to spend the night tonight?”

“Yeah,” Oliver answers.

He realises this is the first good date he's had in a long time.

They split the check.

0

The next week, they go to an Italian restaurant.

When Percy's done explaining why he was late, Oliver asks, “Do you get cursed often?”

“Usually, no.” Percy sighs. “This is George's doing. I'm sorry, but I can't have you at my flat tonight. The chance of him coming over is very high.”

“You think George sent you a cursed letter,” Oliver sceptically inquires.

“Why does that strike you as an unreasonable belief on my part?”

Taking a bite of his food, Oliver considers the question.

Mainly, he finds it hard to believe because he has dinner with George almost every Friday. George hardly ever talks about Percy, and when he does, there's always a deep sadness. Sometimes there's anger, sometimes bitterness, and sometimes simple, outright disbelief at something Percy's done, but there’s always sadness.

“Fair enough,” he says. “Would you like to come over to mine?”

Percy nods. “I'll need to get some stuff from mine, first, however.”

“Planning to move in already,” Oliver jokes.

“I no longer believe in premarital cohabitation,” Percy answers. “The house I rented with my last girlfriend cost too much to keep renting when she and I separated. I ended up in a less-than-ideal neighbourhood while trying to find a better, affordable place.”

“Does that just mean with actual girlfriends/boyfriends or are roommates included in that?”

“If a contract's signed, I wouldn't necessarily object to a flatmate,” Percy answers. “But I imagine the quickest way to lose a significant other would be to ask them to sign a legally, magically binding contract pertaining to our living arrangements. It'd be easier and apparently less insulting to just get married.”

“I think I can see both sides,” Oliver says. “On the one hand, a lot of people rush into things like that, thinking it's bad or not romantic if they try to protect themselves. It's like Quidditch. A lot of players only concentrate on winning, never realising that winning the game doesn't mean near as much if they've permanently disabled themselves from playing again.”

Percy gives him a look.

“Never said I wasn't once the very sort,” Oliver says. “Point is, I eventually did grow and realise some things. But on the other hand, relationships can't be about protecting yourself from everything. You see a way to win the game, know you could break your arm, and most good players will go for it. From what I've seen, sometimes, things happen, and a person has to decide they're going to take a risk. And there are times when that turns out to be a horrible idea, but there are times when, decades later, the people are still together.”

“Hmm,” Percy says. “Well, Wood, I feel I should get this out, now: I'm done taking risks. As much as I like you, I won't be moving in with you, I won't be your emotional support if, Merlin forbid, something traumatic were to happen, and- We both lived through two wars, we both have a complicated, often unpleasant relationship with our respective families, and I'd appreciate it if we could keep the darker issues to ourselves. When it comes to our careers, fine, but otherwise, you handle your life how you see fit, and I'll do the same for mine.”

“My turn, then,” Oliver says. He steels himself. “At school, Fred, George, and Angelina were the closest thing to actual mates I had. I usually have dinner with George every Friday. I think you and I can both agree we don't want him knowing about us. When it comes to your problems with your family, I don't want to take any sides. But I think I should make it clear that if it ever comes down to making a choice, I'd probably side with George. Not because I think he and them are right- I don’t really know enough about what happened to form that sort of opinion. But my history with him, it outweighs whatever this thing with us is.”

“Fair enough,” Percy says.

He reaches his hand over, and Oliver's relatively sure any conversation ending on a handshake means the couple has a short lifespan.

However, Percy surprises him by clasping his hand, squeezing it, and linking their fingers together. 

0

Two weeks later, Oliver finds himself sitting in George's flat with his shoulder throbbing. His arm is no longer broken, but the potions the healers had used have left a definite ache.

“You've been seeing someone,” George declares.

Oliver winces as the ice makes contact with his shoulder.

“What gives you that idea, mate?”

“I have my ways,” George answers.

Rolling his eyes, Oliver says, “I see people every day.”

“So, this one isn't serious, then?”

Oliver starts to respond, and then, sees the look George is giving him.

“I wouldn't exactly say that,” he says. “Only yes, in a way.”

“Mind trying to make a bit more sense, Ollie?”

Carefully lying down, Oliver says, “We have dinner, we usually have a nice conversation, and then, we shag. The conversations- are nice.”

“Ah,” George says. Leaning back in his chair, he continues, “Well, are you boyfriends, or is this just a liking one another well enough and it's convenient to shag?”

Oliver doesn't answer.

“Do you want to be boyfriends, or do you want-”

“George, he and I don't talk much about our relationship. Sometimes, things'll come up, and we'll go from there.”

“Does he have family?”

Hating the question, Oliver answers, “Not that he's close to. I reckon you could say he's something of a loner.”

Reaching over, George pats him on the non-injured shoulder. “Watch out, mate. That might not mean much if they don't think you're treating him right. I know that if Percy suddenly started dating some bird, I'd do my research, for Mum's sake, at least. Not being close, it doesn't always mean the family doesn't have regrets and sincerely wish the person all the best.”

“I can confidently say none of them know he's dating me.”

“Do they know he's into blokes?”

“I've never asked,” Oliver answers. Percy's never mentioned a past boyfriend to him, and neither Fred or George have ever said anything to indicate they thought Percy might be interested in anything other than girls. “He's had girlfriends before.”

“When's the next time you're meeting him?”

“Probably sometime next week. He had to cancel this week.”

Oliver isn't sure why. Percy's letter had been apologetic, wordy, and somewhat confusing. Percy was either ill, having personal issues, or both.

“I hear that,” George says with irritation laced heavily into his voice. “Percy the bighead cancelled his lunch with Mum. Sent a confusing owl about how he might have a virus and needs some time alone. Personally, I think he just wants to show his power. Make her sad, always keep her afraid of losing what little time he bloody deigns to spend with her.”

0

After his visit with George, Oliver goes to Percy’s and, after the door is opened, immediately declares, “You look terrible.”

Percy does look legitimately sick. He's sweaty, bleary-eyed, and seems to wobble. “Oliver,” he says in a way it’s obvious he’s putting great care into his words, “what are you doing here?”

“I thought I'd come see how you were doing. Can I come in?”

“No,” Percy answers. “Now isn't a good time.”

Oliver looks closely at him.

“Percy, are you drunk?”

“No, I'm terribly hungover,” Percy automatically answers. Then, he looks absolutely furious at himself.

“Another case of circumstances being involved?”

“It isn't your concern.”

Even though a part of Oliver thinks he should be the one allowed to decide this, he takes a breath. “Alright,” he says. “Fair warning: George may come over, later.”

He leaves.

0

Two days later, Percy comes to his flat.

He looks much better, but his eyes still show signs of sleep deprivation.

“I think we should talk,” Percy announces.

They sip tea until Percy finally says, “I don't if 'alcoholic' is the right term for me or not. I hope it isn't, but I honestly don't know what is.”

Oliver has many questions, but he sits quietly.

“During the war, I started drinking vodka,” Percy quietly tells him. “At first, it wasn't- I was a social drinker, but at some point, I realised drinking a large amount helped me- I suppose cope; it temporarily made my feelings- Anyway, eventually, I realised that I was desperate for a drink. I brought vodka in a water container to work, and I was more focused on when I could have my next drink than I was anything else. I missed several deadlines.”

“One day, I made a decision. I drank until I passed out, and when I woke up, I sent an owl explaining I was ill. I attributed the withdraw symptoms to a persistent fever. And I never touched alcohol after that.”

“Fred's death?”

“Yes,” Percy answers while refusing to look at him. “I had another binge, and I tried- A little over month later, I had another. The next morning, I had a glass in my hand, but- Without going into detail of how it came about, I set it down. I told myself that if I could just go thirty days, I could have another.”

“Merlin, Percy,” Oliver sighs. He remembers all the times he's drank. “I wish you'd said something. That you were uncomfortable around drinkers or- You could have said something without having to tell me this.”

Percy shakes his head. “Oliver, people drinking around me truly isn't a problem. If I see someone drinking, I don't automatically want a drink. Whenever everything's chaotic or the memories suddenly invade, then, then, I want to get drunk until I pass out. I just prefer not to drink socially in case that does end up sending me down a slippery slope. I don't know if waiting thirty days between drunken binges will always work. The truth is, I have a problem that, at the moment, I'm managing. I don't know if I'll ever not have a problem, and I don't know if I'll always be able to manage it.” 

Oliver thinks of Davie and some of his teammates. The latter can function, the former can't, but they all think nothing of the fact alcohol is one of the most important aspects of their life. Despite their parents’ pleas, Davie insists he doesn't have a problem. The teammates are a different matter. Unlike at Hogwarts, Oliver isn't close to any of them; as long as they take the game seriously and don't do things like lose the championship (although, in fairness, Finnegan's problem isn't the drink), he doesn't get involved.

“You're not alone,” Oliver says. “Look, Percy, I don't know how much help I can be, but here's my story: I helped Longbottom carry a sixteen-year-old boy out of the forest at Hogwarts. Tiny little thing, thought he was younger than that, and later, his brother wanted to meet me. I couldn't very well say no, could I? And he was even smaller than Colin, body shaking as he shook me hand. Some death eater stole my wand, and I nicked one off a dead woman, forced myself to bow to her after it was over, even though she could have been the one to kill the boy I carried for all I know. None of that is the same as what you went through, but I'm just telling you, I do understand how some things keep staying with you.”

“How do you manage?”

Hesitating for a moment, Oliver answers, “Mainly, I talk to your brother. George may try to use any excuse he can get to turn me into a test subject, but he has things, too.”

For some reason, this causes a chuckle. “I'm glad,” Percy responds. Setting his cup down, he says, “If this is a dealbreaker, I understand. Just please, be blunt about it. It annoys me when people try to sugarcoat things like this.”

“I'd like it to not be.”

“Okay,” Percy says. He reaches over to link their hands together.

0

He and George are practising flying runs when George announces, “I think Percy's seeing someone.”

“And what are you going to do if he is, mate?”

“I dunno, yet,” George says. “Guess it depends on the witch. Or I suppose, if she's muggle, the muggle. You don't suppose he'd really go for a muggle, do you? The ministry's cracking down on 'mistreatment' of muggles. Can see their point, but Mum refuses to let me torture him; I'm damn well going to torture anyone who willingly decides to associate in such a way with him.”

He remembers how he spent three hours in severe pain earlier in the morning while pinned to the wall. George kept shoving various things down his throat and pouring potion after potion on him until, finally, he found a spell for the antidote to the prototype for the newest Skiving Snackbox addition.

“I don't think that will be a problem,” he answers.

Ducking to avoid a tree branch, George says, “Dinner at the Burrow tonight. Everyone but the boy in question will be there. You in?”

“Sorry, George,” Oliver answers. “Got a date.”

“Still the nameless ministry bloke?”

“Yeah,” Oliver answers. He stands up on the broom. “Switch with me; been having some trouble with my jumping.”

George stands, and they switch.

“I think I could really like him.”

“Good for you,” George answers. “Just keep mind: Nothing stays hidden forever. Eventually, people are going to find out who you're dating. And everyone knows you prefer blokes, but if it isn't true for him, things could get ugly for both of you.”

He knows this is a good point. Besides, there are so many other warning signs a deeper involvement could end badly. Some part of him wonders why he finds himself so drawn to Percy.

Then, thinking of the Percy's smile, how it feels when they link their hands together, and how besides George, he feels as if he can actually trust Percy with the important, non-Quidditch parts, Oliver knows he's willing to take the chance.  


End file.
